


Of Thorns and Peasants

by demonsLOver



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gift Fic, King and Reaper, Langst, Rebel Lance, Rebel Leader Lance, Rebel! Lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 03:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10676790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonsLOver/pseuds/demonsLOver
Summary: War has made leaders, some by choice others by sorrow. Lance is faced with death in the possible thousands, he needs to make the impossible happen. Kolivan knows a suicide mission isn't the answer.Kolivan is reminded how Lance made it this far. Lance will still find failure in his success._____Gift fic for King and Reaper by PastelClark





	Of Thorns and Peasants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PastelClark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelClark/gifts).
  * Inspired by [King and Reaper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10517586) by [PastelClark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelClark/pseuds/PastelClark). 



> King and Reaper by PastelClark - Voltron: Legendary Defender  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/10517586
> 
> One of the best Voltron fic's I've ever read, maybe my number one spot if there wasn't so much competition.
> 
> This takes place pre-King and Reaper. You gotta read that story first to understand the context behind this fic. Do it, it good. It very good.
> 
> And this is merely my interpretation. This is not part of PastelClark's writings or series but just an inspired what if and maybe. *channeling my inner John Oliver* I'm just a fan. 
> 
> PastelClark if you're reading this, please let me know if any further credit should be given. I am shit when comes AO3 workings. 
> 
> Song mentioned: Calle 13-Latinoamerica

 

Quiet nights like these were common. The camps lights low, hushed talk here and there. Murmurs of the upcoming mission and tales of homes passed around from tents and camp fires. And quiet nights like these had him restless and depressed. Never would he imagined himself millions of light years from...home, leading a solid growing resistance under his lead and name, and to feel so alone despite the many he had would never change.

 

With a heavy sigh, Lance slides off Blue. Giving her a pat, he makes his way around the base perimeter. He wasn’t getting sleep today no matter how hard he tries. He’ll have to inform Zenex to keep an extra eye and ear out. He isn’t as alert as he could be and he would rather have someone else take note of the unusual than suffer any consequences. Lance waves at few that greet him, throwing a smile in return, but he sticks to the shadows, not wanting to converse with his people.

 

The lights of the base are twinkling softly as he makes distance. He quietly presses against a boulder, lowering his breath rate and focusing on his hearing, he looks for the source of the sound. Footsteps in the dark, near the camp at this hour, it could be one of the small creatures of the planet but he wasn’t going to risk it. He stays absolutely still.

 

Something orange and moving from the corner of his good eye against the darkness steals his attention. Small and shape familiar, Lance pinches the bridge of his nose. Ruya. That girl was going to kill him from sheer worry. He internally sighs as he tracks her down quietly. She’s knows better than to be by herself.

 

He follows her, blending into the dark with steady, quiet steps. She climbs a small cliffside, her strength easily assisting her upwards. She sits at the edge, her feet dangling. He frowns during his trek up, as he swings, jumps, and climbs, she doesn’t notice his presence. How lost in thought is Ruya? He has a good idea of what but he can’t excuse her actions. He was warned her before, and once again she doesn’t listen.

 

Lance stands feet away, arms crossed. He walks like a silent cat, the wind covering the sounds. “How you keep sneaking off to be alone tells me two things. One, you are sneaky and putting yourself in danger,” Lance whispers in her ear, grinning as she shrieks in fright, “and two, you are disobeying orders.”

 

“G-General!”

 

“What are you doing here?” Lance calmly demands.

 

“It’s just...I, I don’t know.” She lies. Well then, Lance has no choice.

 

“If you want to explore safely, are you sure you don’t want to go on the transport tomorrow? Nelui is a safe refuge planet. You can have fun with the kids there.” He reasons.

 

“No! I wanna stay here.” She objects, her voice shaky but eyes stubborn. “I want to stay with you.”

 

“So I’ll say this once. Ruya, if you continue to ignore the orders I give, which are meant for your safety and others, I will forcefully put you in a transport for a refuge planet.”

 

She goes wide eyed. It’s the first he ever threatened to make her leave. She has seen him order those that are too injured or in need of recovery to take refuge. It’s never a pretty sight.

 

“I’m technically your guardian. I won’t have you die because you choose to be stubborn. We’re always in danger of being caught at anytime and if you were out here during an attack, there’s a good chance you would have been injured or killed.” Lance explains. He removes his coat and places it on her shoulders. Her species were vulnerable to the cold. “Your parents didn’t die for you to be killed recklessly. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Her nod is stiff. “Ruya.” She looks upward.

 

“Yes, I understand.”

 

“Then tell me why you are out here.” He pleads. He ignores the swell of pain in his chest. A quick memory of comforting his niece striking all too close to the heart.

 

“I… I just wanted to be alone.”  Ruya snivels. Her kind don’t have tears, don't human cry, but secrete a mucus from their nose. Lance knows they’re coming. “I miss them.”

 

“I know. I know you do.”

 

“Then why can’t I fight for them?” She shouts.

 

“You’re too young Ruya, until you are of age and until I know you can listen to orders and be a proficient fighter, then I might consider letting you fight. You’re still a kid, not with the freedom I wish I could give but enjoy what you can now. Also, it's your attitude.

 

“You’re just not ready. Sneaking out is proof of that. When I was learning to become a pilot on my home planet, I would sneak out. It was against the rules, breaking curfew and code, but being in the middle of the desert, a fifteen year-old teenager can only survive on bland cafeteria food for so long.” It aches, he holds in the sigh that is too weary for her to hear. He lost so much. It's been years, but every small reminder from food to clothes has enough force to make him breathless. “It was nice to get away from the Garrison and be alone, to escape sometimes. I understand if you want your space.”

 

“Teenager? If you were a soldier at that age why can’t I?”

 

“You’re changing the subject, Ruya. I wasn’t training to be a soldier but an explorer, a pilot.” None of it mattered now but without those skills, piloting Blue would be a different story. “I understand Ruya. How you feel, what you miss, that no matter how much time passes it feels like it never happened and you're waiting to see them like always.”

 

Ruya’s eyes are pinched, lower lip trembling. “Can you sing, please?” She asks quietly. Lance knows the telltale signs of crying coming from the rumbles that vibrate from her back. It breaks his heart how she’s trying to forget the pain, to move on but he knows she’ll sink back into those memories. “In that pretty language? _Please._ ”

 

He sits next to her. Her head rests against his arm, the sniffles and rumbles start. Lance is trying to get her to talk about the loss of her parents. He doesn’t want her to become like him, filled with regret and sorrow that he’s sure it will be the death of him.

 

And it has.

 

 _“Soy...Soy lo que dejaron…soy_ _toda la sobra de lo que te robaron..._ _”_

 

I...I am what they left...I am the remains of everything they have stolen.

 

***

 

“This is a trap.”

 

“Obviously.” Lance stated, eyes hard and cold. “But do I have a choice? We know the answer to that.”

 

“Lance.”

 

“Kolivan.” Lance copies, tone irritated.

 

“You are the face and hope of this rebellion. The largest revolt and stand guard against the Galra in millennia. Lotor and Haggar have determined you as the biggest threat, of all other armies and organization that exist and have existed, even against Voltron, you are their target. If you should die, the hopes of many will fade as well.”

 

Fury dances in blue orbs, one more vibrant than the other but equally scrutinizing. If Kolivan was a lesser man he would flinch, but he doesn’t lead the Blade if he didn't have spine. Lance’s mouth turns into an angry frown. “Do you actually believe I would die with this hope? I’m fully prepared to give it up should I die.” Lance focuses back to the monitor. “I left hints on who shall carry my responsibility. I won’t let this resistance die with me.”

 

“Even now you still consider yourself so worthless?”

 

His lack of action cost him Earth. Cost him everything. It could have been prevented if he just believed in himself a bit more, pushed for more but the blame could center to him. What worth was to someone who couldn’t protect his own home? Who was there and surely didn’t try hard enough to stop it? He lives, still breathes, that is proof enough as Earth and its billions of souls do not.

 

Lance was _nothing._

 

“The fight will continue beyond me.”

 

“No it will not, Lance. This is my final plea, reconsider this decision.” A mixture of concern and anger took over Kolivan’s face, the Galran rarely allowing any kind emotion to show. A neutral expression the leader always wore.

 

“I will not let their lives carry on my conscious.” Lance argues. As many that live and follow his orders, many have died for that very reason.  “Not after losing those that I just lost.”

 

“He will kill them if you show or not.” Kolivan says harshly but the truth needs to be said. “We have had sacrifices before, heavy losses. Some taking their lives before a rescue despite our best attempts. What changed, Lance? You have dealt with mass loss before.”

 

“Not at this scale. Never in the thousands.” Lance mutters, eyes analyzing the formation of his team, recalling Lotor’s usual battle plans, moving a ship for a flank and another for cover. “I don’t have much ti—”

 

“You know something.” Kolivan realizes. Plan Z for Plan A. Contingency accounting for error. Adaption in the moment. Lance, as he known, has three moves ahead before the first. The human before him was too calm. A calculating mind of a strategist and commander with no value to his well-being. This was a determined scarred soul ready to die. Dread pooled in Kolivan’s gut. “Lance, what have you done? What are you doing?”

 

“Fascination is such an interesting thing when it’s from your enemy.” Lance says. His eyes take in the darkness and stars, for once looking away from the screens.

 

“You give me no choice.” Kolivan grips the hilt of his blade, not unsheathing it. “Your loss will damn us all.”

 

“Hmph, are you seriously going to try and stop me?”  Lance’s left eyebrow rises. He tucks away a loose strand of hair.“Kolivan, I can promise you that I won’t die. But I need to borrow something you have.”

 

A questioning silence, Lance curses under his breath. “I need a sword. You’re called the Blade of Marmora for a reason.”

 

“A sword? Why not change your bayard?” Close combat Lance excelled at, Kolivan was sure of that, but the human fought with his guns and blasters. And he could only think of one other fighter that used blasters and blade.

 

Was Lance really going to confront Lotor directly?

 

“My bayard is… a last resort.” Lance said carefully, choosing his words wisely. “I rather carry the actual weapon I need than rely only on my bayard.”

 

Kolivan saw a losing argument. He grimaced. “Very well. Follow me.”

 

The worry in his gut grew. Kolivan watched the human leave his base with a sword and light armor. If Lance was going with a inane plan to rescue his rebels, Kolivan may as well give Lance some better defense than the one the human owns.

 

Failure was not an option.

 

*

 

He receives word of a successful rescue, but nothing detailing the General’s physical state.

 

Rather than stay with worry and thoughts, Kolivan goes to Alrexa. The home of Lance's resistance.

 

Disorder and chaos filled the base camp. Left and right, someone was doing something. Tents and ships clustered as new and recognizable faces took every available space. Kolivan’s presence ignored, he searches for a known face. He makes his way as he spots who he needs.

 

“Zenex.”

 

The branded Galran sergeant nursed his bandage arm. Zenex nods in greeting.

 

“Where is he?”

 

“Waiting for a pod.” Zenex points to a tent across from a him, a good walk away. “He's fresh out of surgery.”

 

“Foolish human.” Kolivan mutters under his breath, “How severe?”

 

“Not as bad as it could have been. He stabbed Lotor while being stabbed in return.” Zenex winced. “Took the Emperor himself by surprise, then aimed a blaster to Lotor’s head. It bought enough time to rescue as many rebels we could. Our biggest fear was if Lotor severed a major blood vessel.”

 

“Blood loss?”

 

“A good half liter he lost before we stopped it.” Zenex shook his head. “Scared us to death.”

 

“How did you escape?”

 

“During his fight with Lotor, we had ships in hyperdive waiting to rush in. I was unsure how the General would escape but our time limit was based on Haggar’s arrival. He instructed us that as soon the Druid appears to retreat immediately, no matter how many we could save, we must retreat.” Zenex summarizes.

 

“Haggar would have killed Lance the moment she saw him.” Kolivan determines. The witch has a personal eye out for the General. “Lance used where Lotor wanted him to place both at risk. If Lotor tried to order an attack during the rescue, Lance would kill him and escape alive, just barely. And Lotor waited for Haggar’s arrival. Both had a backup for their survival.”

 

“The General did have great foresight.” Zenex can't help but be impressed but worry won over. “But he was barely conscious when he exited his Lion.”

 

“I would assume so. Fighting Lotor in such a manner, it was foolhardy even for him.” Kolivan scans the busy rebels. “How many?”

 

“We rescued two-thirds.” Heavy words, the weight overbearing. Breathing them into reality making it all the more painful to Zenex. “The General… did the impossible. A rescue of this magnitude and we came out with our odds… it just doesn't happen.”

 

“You have a great leader.” Kolivan says. It was a simple fact. “If you'll excuse me.”

 

A medium size tent, he hears hushed talk inside before he slowly opens the tent, making his presence known.

 

On a small cot, Lance lays on with bandages wrapped around his stomach, stitches surely underneath with red blood that has seeped through. Bruises marr the left side of Lance's cheek, a dark one on his chest. His lip his split in the lower middle. Kolivan expected Lance in worse condition, but the sickly pale tone instead of glowing tan skin speaks for itself.

 

The rebel in the room glares at his presence. Kolivan ignores.

 

Lance sighs. “It’s okay, Rolo. Give us a moment.”

 

The rebel’s eyes follow him as he nears the entrance. “You sure?”

 

“Go, get some food in you.” Lance orders, rubbing his face. He groans when he touches the bruise. “I'll be fine.”

 

Finally alone, neither leader says a thing. Kolivan takes the empty seat left by the bed. “You’re insane.” Kolivan concluded.

 

“And you thought I would hand myself to Lotor. I would rather kill myself.” Cheeky reply, Lance tries not to smile. The nasty bruise flares in pain when he does. “They couldn’t risk losing another ruler. Haggar knows this, more so than Lotor.”

 

“You saved your soldiers.”

 

Lance hears the cries from outside, of pain and joy, loss and reunion. All of it so unfair. “No, not all of them.”

 

“You did your best considering the circumstances.”

 

“We both knew I could have done better but that's hindsight, isn't it?” Lance winces, pointing across the tent. A table with with his weapons and items rested on. “Your blade. Your armor on the other hand might be damaged goods.”

 

“Keep them.”

 

“Take the blade.” Lance presses. “Take it or I'll sell it. Luxite pays handsomely when melted down, but a top class blade?” Lance whistled. “Imagine all the things I could buy.”

 

Kolivan snorts under his breath. The blade had the sigil of Marmora. Lance held their alliance strong but any personal, representative interaction with the Blade was a clear no.

 

“Very well.” The human’s loss.

 

“Kolivan.” The Galra’s ears twitch at soft pitch in Lance's voice. “Is that your real name? Kolivan?”

 

“Yes, it is.” If he shall die one day, his name is his truth. No one will take that from him.

 

“It’s not Lance. Lance isn’t my name.”

 

A privilege, a sign of trust, Kolivan waits. “Leandro Alejandro Nuñez Chavez Espinoza. That is my name.”

 

L-A-N-C-E. Clever but… “General is just fine.”

 

Lance’s laughter follows him as he exits the tent. He can’t help but grin.

 

Kolivan, at times, finds it hard to believe what became of the Blue Paladin. It bewildered him that during his time with Voltron, in their Castle and fighting beside them a short period, that the Paladins and Princess, with the exception of one Yellow Paladin, were oblivious to their fellow comrade’s doing. The boy realized Voltron’s naivety in the war, their infant role in a fight they knew nothing about. It spoke to Kolivan, Voltron’s demise may be by their own hand.

 

And yet, here he is, returning to the Blade of Marmora from the Blue Lion Resistance base.

 

Voltron’s end was nearing if nothing should be done.

 

**

 

_“Kolivan.”_

 

_“Paladin.”_

 

_“Lance, call me Lance please.” The human looks to the side, nervous. “I’m sorry.”_

 

_“Why do you apologize?”_

 

_“May I?” Lance asks, pointing to empty space next to Koilvan. The Galran nods, he wouldn’t have suspected this Paladin for manners as he has observed from the control deck. The human leans his arms against his knees, resting the tablet he was carrying between them as a barrier._

 

_“It’s by our own fault,” Lance gestures to the Castle, “Voltron’s fault, you lost three dedicated men. Our incompetence has called for their sacrifice. I’m pretty sure the Blades of Marmora are ready to die any moment's notice, especially with spies in the Empire. But,” Lance sighs, “your people have fought longer than we have for the short time Voltron has returned. Ruining the plans the Blade has made, waiting for years to enact on them. We have put those that are still undercover in danger, your secret group in danger after being hidden for so long.”_

 

_“You feel responsible for their deaths.” Kolivan is curious. “Why so?”_

 

_“Just because Voltron can take Zarkon down, doesn’t mean we should take charge.” Lance explains, a tad frustrated. “We have no idea what to do now since Shiro disappeared and if Zarkon is even dead.”_

 

_“You don’t believe Zarkon is killed?”_

 

_“Call it a hunch, but if someone is able to live 10,000 years and not die, I’m pretty Zarkon has found a way to survive somehow.” Lance hesitated. “Especially with those Druids.”_

 

_Kolivan suppressed his snarl. Accursed witch was the unpredictable factor he'll have to take note of for future missions. His attention back to the Blue Paladin, he’s rather bemused with little human.“You’re very perceptive, more than you reveal to be.”_

 

_“Yeah, I guess I am.” Short, quick cut answer but ambiguous. “But I just want to apologize. I know they had their duties —Thace, Ulaz, and Antok— but I can’t deny if  Voltron had better preparation and training, just better stability and awareness of our actions, they wouldn’t have died.”_

 

_The boy isn't wrong. Much could be done but the time to attack was a small window. From his time in the Blade, opportunities were few in decades. He had to take what he could. Zarkon was, at least, out of commission. “The Blade will arrive to retrieve Slav and I in time.”_

 

_Lance remained silent, reading the situation with ease. The princess was… unsure of the alliance between Voltron and the Blade. The Castle had a connection to the Blade, but his instincts urged him to keep this human close. A hidden pair of ears and eyes that saw what others ignored. He gently takes the tablet Lance brought. After encrypting his information, he returns it to the confused human._

 

_“These are coordinates to my communicator, a private personal channel.” The human accepts it wide eyed. “If you ever in the need of intel or assistance, contact me. Be cautious.” Kolivan warned._

 

_“I-I will.” Lance stuttered, grateful for connection. “I promise. Thank you.”_

 

_Kolivan nods. There is a strong calm, a steady quiet mind under a loud personality. A trusting individual. “To be frank, I’m at loss too.”_

 

_“Aren't we all?” A wise response, the human is maturer that he reveals. Could be a spymaster in the making._

 

_“Mind if I ask some questions while you're here?” Lance asks. There's a glint, an eager need to know information. Good._

 

_“Go ahead.”_

  
*  


_Days turned to weeks, and now he could finally return to the Blade._

 

_“Slav?”_

 

_“One in every 137 universes, Voltron loses its Blue Paladin.”_

 

_The genius always had high numbers of parallel universes, for it to be so low was unnerving. A shame the boy would die soon, the young human had hidden potential. Slav's probabilities very rarely ever wrong._

 

_“It’s war. Death does not discriminate.”_

 

_The silence Slav held was odd, he would have started to rattle off a statistic out of fear. For once, the genius was quiet, concern on his face as he watched the Castle of Lions grow distant. Slav’s hands intertwined with worry._

 

_“Loss isn't always death my friend.”_

 

_Kolivan didn’t know what to make of that. His brows furrowed at the cloth that was wrapped around Slav’s neck. “Is that a scarf?” When did the engineer get that?_

 

_The genius visibly cheers up, four hands grab the fabric. “He figured out I do not do well in the cold.”_

 

_As they return to home base, Kolivan wonders, if maybe, Slav was wrong. Voltron should bond closer than ever in the absence of their leader, to work as a unit, find their place in the universe. But the tension thickened as the Black Lion refused Keith, Kolivan could clearly see why. The half-Galran half-human was not in a state to lead. The other human, the Blue Paladin was a viable candidate. However, the facade many have fallen for prevented many from seeing the truth._

 

_He left hoping they could become what Voltron stands for._

 

_Months later, he hears murmurs and rumors of a warrior in a blue beast tearing the Galra apart. Gaining a following and reputation, Lance is becoming a very large thorn at Lotor’s side. Kolivan needs to find the Blue Paladin before the Empire does._

 

_The General finds him first and Kolivan quickly comes to terms Slav was right. Voltron has lost their Blue Paladin, and in return the universe has gained a large resistance._

 

_An alliance with the Blue Lion Resistance and Blade of Marmora is made._

 

It was the demise of Voltron, the large mechanical warrior unable to be formed, but the disintegration of the Paladins bonds was made by their own hand. If they had only valued their teammates words, not dismissing it as paranoia, maybe Earth could have been saved. Kolivan wished he could have been of more help, but Earth was not his priority.

 

It was Lance’s, heavily so. When Lance left Voltron, he did not leave a piece of himself behind. Voltron suffered from it as they were unaware how subconsciously dependent they were on the Blue Paladin.

 

Loyal, trusting, hopeful. It drew countless species to the human’s side, to lay their lives in Lance’s guiding hands. A tactician's mind that continued to outdo and outrun Lotor’s plans. Leveling the playing field to the new Emperor’s irk. Kolivan was still unsettled about Lotor’s fascination with Lance but the human has walked carefully. And those on Lance’s side would rather die than have their leader in the Galra’s hand.

 

Lance embodied what held the resistance together, unlike Voltron.

 

Loyalty turned to begrudging duty, trust became fake belief, and hope was a solid disenchantment. Voltron lacked those true traits, their loss of their Blue Paladin evident at the unbalance they carried. They brought it upon themselves. It’s cruel of him, but if Voltron cannot see the value of their Paladin that expressed and searched proof of Earth's impending destruction, then they are not worthy of the man he has come to know. Kolivan offered Lance to be a Blade of Marmora, he could use a brilliant mind if Voltron did not.

 

Lance thanked him for the offer but politely rejected. The young man didn’t need to follow anyone. Lance chose to follow those he believed in. Lance decided to follow himself. Kolivan could respect that kind of integrity and determination. And as he has witnessed, the Blue Lion Resistance is the result. He’s impressed in the short time in space, Lance has outdone others with personality and honesty alone.

 

And if Kolivan had to choose, and has chosen, the better ally, it was the resistance. Voltron was still an ally but the ties to them was weak compared to Lance’s. It wasn’t just because of Lance’s predecessor. It’s strange that they're so alike, he muses, the deceased first Blue Paladin and the ex-current one. Both led to some form of large attack on the Galra, in secret or blatant revolt.

 

Comms connect, the faces of Voltron gaze upon him.

 

“Princess, Paladins, Coran.” He greets.

 

“We suspect the Empire is creating a new weapon. A constant word is Komar. Do you have any intel on this?” Shiro asks.

 

Earth’s death has warned them, haunted them of ever ignoring such plans. A hard lesson that has permanently changed them, has cost them.

 

Pitying.

 

“An ally of mine has come acrossed to what you may have been searching for.” Kolivan searches through the computer's data, tapping the holo-monitor. “He was been tracking down any information pertaining to the Komar Project.”

 

The Yellow Paladin steps forward. “He? Lance?” The Princess face twist between guilt and anger. The others don't say a word, avoiding any eye contact with him and each other.

 

Kolivan can’t believe they still refuse to speak of Lance. “Yes.” Pleading eyes from Hunk’s, forever eager for any miniscule info on his former friend, Kolivan relents, slightly. “He is doing well.” Despite Lance’s recent interaction with Lotor. Lance and Lotor will end up killing each other at this rate. “His resistance grows in strength and numbers.”

 

For the half-Galran that once seeked knowledge or death, Kolivan is disappointed Keith tried for neither in the two years Lance withdrew from Voltron.

 

Their avoidance will be the death of them.

 

“If that is all.” He ends the transmission but he's receives another alert.

 

Another transmission, the coordinates practically memorized from constant communication. He sighs as he opens the line, a familiar face on screen appears.

 

“ _Kolivan!”_

 

“Lance, there is no need for such volume.”

 

“The suits! I love it!”

 

“I’m still unsure how you’re the General of a mass resistance. Why do your people follow you again?” Kolivan mocks casually, no real insult in his words.

 

“You and your not-but-really-is sarcasm. And you know because they love me!”

 

Kolivan wishes to roll his eyes.

 

“Can I get these in different colors?” Lance asks, pulling at the black bodysuit. “The fifteen you sent were all black with armor, which is nice but a little color would be cool. A gray, a navy, a dark brown, what about—”

 

“I’m a busy man and so are you. If this is all you have come to bother me about, “ Lance gasps dramatically, “then you have time to re-look your plans. Goodnight, Lan—"

 

“Kolivan.”

 

There is that soft tone. Sincerity and honesty.

 

“Thanks Kolivan, really.”

 

Lance may be a young man leading the open fight of the war, but Kolivan can’t forget about the boy who witnessed and died alongside the death of his home, his family and Earth. Even in the loss of everything, Lance’s hope was vital as it continued to strive against all that stood in his path and the Galra knew, Kolivan knew, Voltron did not. Keeping that hope alive, by any means, was a personal critical mission for the Leader of the Blade of Marmora.

 

Trust was a scarce, dying thing.

 

“Your welcome.”

 

***

  


A week later, after a quick vigil and eulogy, Lance drowns in his mind.

 

No one disturbs him unless they need something dire, and most of the time they can handle it themselves. His people know well to leave him be, give him some time.

 

It's not the first time he lost soldiers and it won't be the last. His daring rebels knew what state the universe was in, the position they chose to take and the risk that follows. They could die any moment and he reminds them of that. It's four years in space, two leading the resistance but the process is numbing. Nowhere as painful as watching Earth die, but it's hard every time to realize he sent his people to die. His orders, their lives, his responsibility. It's a harsh ache that have his scars stinging, hands a twitching mess.

 

There was no point in looking over the plans once they have been enacted upon, but he can't help himself. He needs to know what positions needed backup, where did the blockade break first, what new weapons or formation did the Galra use. He can't sleep, he needs to know every detail and break it apart, put it back together to prevent future mistakes.

 

Make next time better.

 

It isn't until he's in need of sleep and food, and just plain need of rest, do Zenex and Nyma force him to stay with Blue. His beautiful girl purrs, trying anyway to comfort him but her presence, physically and mindfully, are more than enough.

 

He sinks, descending down a spiral. He always does with mass casualties. He mourns his people but…

 

Lance thinks of his family.

 

His family must have mourned him. Body or not, MIA or campus accident, whatever the excuse, death is death. Lance is consumed with guilt, imagining how they felt and _knows_ how they felt. He let his mother, his sisters, _his family_ , die believing they would join him. His mother praying to be reunited with her lost child in heaven. The family finally together as a whole.

 

Lance wouldn't have considered himself cruel, but those controlling the universe taught him he is very much capable of much more horror.

 

_They're shaking, trying to hold their bodies still. Lance stabbed his sword through Lotor’s lower right abdomen. Lance is a mirror reflection, Lotor’s blade stabbed his left. But he has the upper hand, his blaster pistol is aimed at the King’s forehead. Not touching, not yet, but his finger rests on trigger very lightly._

 

_The temptation is there. To end this, all of this but this madman isn't worth a damn thing to his people. His rebels. If swallowing his hatred that is screaming at him to pull his index finger, for the lives of his captured rebels, he'll shove his disgust down for another day._

 

_“You're just a lonely bastard.” He grits._

 

_Lotor grins, “From orphan to orphan,” Lance's breathing stops. Anger burns in his chest, heat choking his throat. Blue eyes go wild and wide. The new King enters Lance's personal space, further embedding the blade into his side, the blaster presses against his forehead, but the young Emperor doesn't care. Taking sick glee from the hatred and craze on the human's face, the dark expression new and different from the composed, cold General. “You are a lonely bastard as well.”_

 

“ _At least my parents loved me, unlike being an unknown Prince because your tyrant father was ashamed of his son being—” Lotor gives the blade a little turn, but it still cuts insides, Lance bites back the pain. “—halfblood.”_

 

_Lance grins at Lotor’s fuming state. Oh, he knows what Galra Generals and soldiers say behind the King's back. “Blame your father for the Galra’s idea of bullshit purity.”_

 

_“If you only wasted away with the planet you cry for.” Lotor snarls._

 

_Lance scoffed, gives a huffed laugh. “Who is the thorn at your side, Lotor?” He slowly pulls the blade out from Lotor, staring the half-Galran with dead eyes, voice cold. “Voltron or me?”_

 

 _Who is the enemy you made?_  

 

_Wisps of dark energy tingle the air, Lance pulls his blade out of Lotor. He groans as Lotor’s sword is pulled out quickly, messily in his haste. He shoots to make the Emperor dodge. Blue rockets past the ship before bursting through the hangar doors. He runs to Blue's opened mouth. Pressing the communicator earring, he orders a retreat._

 

_Hundreds did not make it out, but thousands did._

 

How many more lives will die because of him? The billions of Earth, the hundreds of his people, and countless others he failed to save, where is the line in the sand?

 

It was back home, on a coastal shore with warm faces and quick mother tongue where he drew his dreams in sands to see the stars. As like the unknown darkness that is space, and the waves that come in and take what they can reach and steal it to it depths, that foundation has longed slipped from his hands, taking his footing.

 

There wasn't a line to cross anymore. There was nothing anymore. Everything he had was nothing. He was nothing.

 

Lance takes his mother’s gold, thick cross from under his shirt, clutching it with a tight fist. A good luck charm, she said. You'll have ours and the lord's blessings, she said. Popping open the alien liquor that taste like whiskey but he desperately pretends it's rum, he murmurs his grandparents prayers under his breath. To him it meant little but it softens the soulful fatigue. Small comforts, he'll take what he can get.

 

Tomorrow, the General will lead as always. But tonight… Lance… Lance will cry into his hands. Curse the infinite stars he once admired, heave into tears on the souls that weep and scream in a choir of his beloved family's voices, whimpers what he lost and sobs for it to be returned.

 

Yet, he knows better. Lance is one of few humans to exist, that remain. Lance is a boy who cries for his family, his home, his earth. Lance is a poor, mess of a boy that means less than a damn atom.

 

Lance doesn't deserve to live, once ago he didn't want to.

 

His family. His mother's smile. His sisters giggles. Lance went with them.

 

The General wakes up. Lance returns to the list of names upon a gravestone of skin and scars on a broad back. He exits the makeshift tent against Blue, leaving a life and memories of a boy. He becomes the young man these people, his people, believe.

 

He signals Zenex to follow. Plans must continue.

 

“Let's go.”

  


_No puedes comprar mi vida_

 

You cannot buy my life.

  


**Author's Note:**

> No, my soul cannot be sold. 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Rum is the main liquor in Cuba, FYI. 
> 
> What can I say, I love The King and Reaper too much.


End file.
